


Missing Persons 1 & 2

by WanderingAlice



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Steve Has No Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:47:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingAlice/pseuds/WanderingAlice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, there were two countries that eternally teetered on the brink of war. Both countries had their great “asset.” A peerless warrior, a man forged in battle and tempered in death. Much of their story is classified, but this is what we know: the Captain and the Winter Soldier met to do battle, but Steven Rogers and James Barnes came home.</p>
<p>OR</p>
<p>When SHIELD de-iced Steve, he didn’t have any memories. They used the opportunity to turn him into their puppet, their answer to Russia’s Winter Soldier. A shadow war began, pitting the Captain against the Soldier in hundreds of assignments. It only ended when the two finally met face-to-face, and their memories came crashing back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was working on the next chapter of David, and the first chapter of Comitatus, and this happened instead. I apologize for any insanity or oddity in it, the idea was conceived on a two hour taxi ride in a mini-van with about 20 other people, laying on top of (and trying not to crush) a load of bananas, while stuck underneath a pile of children's bicycles. (No, I'm not kidding.)
> 
> Please enjoy!
> 
> The title comes from the song of the same name by OneRepublic.

Once upon a time, there were two countries that eternally teetered on the brink of war. They were tied together by nature of the world they were born into and the world they had made, but there was much about them that was polar opposites. Their conflict drove them both to their greatest heights and lowest depths, making astounding improvements in the world around them while causing unbelievable suffering at the same time. The people of both were convinced that neither one could reach greatness while the other remained, and the leaders refused to even sit at the same dinner table.

Both countries had their great “asset.” A peerless warrior, a man forged in battle and tempered in death. A man who followed their every order. These assets were labeled as ghosts, urban mythology, or wild speculation by the general populace. Nobody believed they really existed, save for the men who pointed and told them to shoot. Much of their story is classified, the official reports so redacted no one can make sense of the contents, though many have tried. What we do know, is that the Captain and the Winter Soldier met to do battle, but Steven Rogers and Bucky Barnes came home. This is their story.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky Barnes lived his life protecting Steve. He was lost the same way, falling from a train as he fought beside his friend. His remains were never recovered. Missing Person Number One. Steven Rogers was lost soon after, saving the world as he crashed a plane into the ocean. His body was never found. Missing Person Number Two. And then, they woke up.

 

* * *

 

 

The Captain woke up in a clean, white room. There was sound, and color, and scent. He did not recognize any of them. He sat up. Someone entered the room, a woman. “Good morning, Captain Rogers,” she said. He looked around to see who she was talking to. “Captain?” She was looking at him. Nobody else was in the room.

“Captain Rogers?” he asked her. “Is that my name?”

The woman left, and some others came. Men in dark clothes, who spoke with their heads together, casting furtive looks at him, sometimes asking him questions. He didn’t know the answers to any of them, but his replies must have been satisfactory because soon the men left, and someone brought him food.

In the days that followed, he was visited only by the female nurse, and a male doctor. Sometimes he could hear others outside his room, talking about him, but they never came inside. Nobody ever told him what his name was, and try though he might, he couldn’t remember. He only had one memory, one name. A man with dancing blue eyes and a sly smirk. A name for that man- Bucky. He didn’t ask about Bucky, about who he was. Somehow, he knew Bucky was gone.

At last, another man came to visit him. A man in a crisp military uniform, and an air of command. Something in the Captain told him to stand and salute when the man entered the room. The man returned the salute perfunctorily, and told him to sit down.

“Your name is Steven Rogers,” the man said. “You are a captain in the U.S. military. Almost fifteen years ago, you saved the world from the worst kind of terror, but were presumed dead. We never gave up on you, we found you, healed you, and brought you here. I am General Taylor.”

He looked at the Captain then, and frowned sadly. “I understand you don’t have any memory of who you are, but you are still our greatest soldier. I’d like to say we could give you time to recover, but the truth is, your country needs you. There’s a threat growing, one that might just be greater than the one you nearly died to bring down.”

The Captain thought about that. The general needed him. He didn’t have a memory, but he had skills. He’d proven that in tests the doctor had given him days ago. He could fight. Something in him said he could disable the general before he took more than half a step towards the door. Something else said that if his country needed him, then he needed to do what the general asked. It would be a relief to get out of that room, and maybe out in the world he could find his memory.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

 

The Captain took the gun and the shield. He slid into the dark blue uniform with the silver star on its chest, and it felt familiar. He followed his handler into a plane, and dove out of it into the water. He surfaced and made his way through a ship, silent, deadly. He found the man he had been sent to kill. One bullet was all it took, and his mission was over. He dove off the ship and swam to the pickup point. His handler looked at him in surprise when he reported the mission complete, and checked his watch. Then he called back to command and told them they were coming in early, objective achieved.

When they got back, General Taylor was there to praise the Captain. He talked a lot about duty and honor, and especially about sacrifice. The Captain listened attentively, and when the general asked if he would allow them to keep him back for ‘special’ missions, he just nodded. It wasn’t like he had a past, or at least, not one he could remember, and his handler had been effusive in his ramblings about how much Steven Rogers had done for America. The Captain felt like that word, that concept- ‘America’ was important, something he would give his life for. So when they told him he would spend his life on missions, sleeping away the days and months in-between, he didn’t mind. He followed General Taylor down sleek silver corridors, into a room deep underground. They put him in a man-sized box, and he fell asleep. When he woke up, his handler was a few years older, and the weapons they gave him felt different than the ones he had known before.

Over the years, the Captain woke up many times. Sometimes, they woke him up to train him, give him new skills as they were developed. Sometimes, they just woke him up and sent him out for a quick mission. Sometimes his missions were weeks at a time. He never remembered anything before waking up in that clean, white room. His mind was a barren space filled with ‘America’ and ‘Duty’ and death. The handlers (and there were many, over the years. Sometimes the same one would be there when he opened his eyes, but always older, days or weeks or years, but older. The Captain never aged.) always called him Captain, or sometimes Captain Rogers. The name Steven ceased to mean anything to him.

Gradually, the Captain noticed another person on his missions. Not all, not even most, but a significant portion of them. He was his nemesis, the man the Enemy sent to make sure the Captain failed.  He was a challenge, often the only one on his missions which seemed laughably easy for the importance his handlers placed on them. They never met face-to-face, but sometimes the Captain would catch a glimpse of the man as they raced to finish the mission. Sometimes the Captain would win. Sometimes the enemy would.

They told him the enemy was called the Winter Soldier. He answered to the Russian government, the way the Captain answered to the Americans- not at all, officially, but un-officially he was their most important asset. The Captain learned Russian with the idea that he could speak to the Soldier when they finally came together. A meeting seemed inevitable. For the first time since he woke up, he had something to look forward to. And something to dread. Because the Captain knew when that happened, only one of them would leave alive.

 

* * *

 

 

The Winter Soldier didn’t remember when he first woke up. He only remembered the ice, and the pain, and the orders. They let him keep the missions sometimes, but nothing else, not even his own name. He only had one real memory of his own, and something in him said to never tell the handlers about it, he knew they would take it away.

The memory was of a man, a small/big man with kind blue eyes and a sunlight smile. And a name, Steve. He looked for Steve on missions, but he never found him. It didn’t matter. Soon enough, most of the missions they let him keep in his mind contained another man, the Captain.

The Captain was an America, the Enemy. The Soldier often found himself working against him, a race between two equal forces to complete a goal. He never saw his face, but sometimes he heard his voice. The Soldier knew English, though he couldn’t say when he had learned it, and secretly he wished to speak to the Captain. He never let them know he wanted that, because he wasn’t allowed to want anything. It felt good to keep that want, though. It didn’t impact his missions, so he saw nothing wrong with it.

Working against the Captain became a game to the Soldier. Every time he woke, he wondered if this would be the mission where they would meet. It never was, but that was alright, because when they met it would be the end. And if the Soldier walked away from the conflict, they would take away his memories of the Captain. He wouldn’t need them, after the man was defeated. But he wanted them. And something in him, some part of him that was still human, hoped that it would be the Captain who would live, in the end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was supposed to only be two chapters. And then Howard and Peggy refused to cooperate. So there will be a third chapter up in the next few days, wrapping up plot holes and whatnot. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, a big thank you to everyone who commented. You all really helped me think about where the plot was going beyond "the boys save each other".

The final time the Captain woke, he was brought out of his sleep and handed a new uniform. He put it on without question, though it was missing his customary silver or white star on the chest. The guns he was given were also new, and for the first time he could remember he was not given a shield. But he was given a mask, an apparatus that protected his nose and mouth from anything harmful in the air. He put it on, and then he was escorted by the handler to a large black vehicle, where they were driven to an expensive looking house in New York. There was an old man outside, getting into a car with a woman who was probably his wife. The man looked up when the Captain’s car arrived, and for a moment the Captain thought he remembered those dark, dark eyes. The feeling disappeared in seconds, and the Captain followed his handler out of the car.

“You are not to speak to the subject,” the handler said. “Nor are you to remove your mask or helmet.” They approached the man, another team pulling up behind them, agents fanning out to secure the perimeter.

“What’s this?” the old man asked, looking at the handler in surprise.

“SHIELD special forces.” He showed the man a badge. “You need to come with us, sir.” The handler looked at the Captain, who placed a hand on the old man’s shoulders and steered him back towards their car. “You’re in danger.”

“Maria,” the man looked to his wife. Another agent moved to stand beside her.

“We already have other agents securing your son. Your family will be kept safe.” The handler slid in front of them, opening the back door to the car.

“What’s this about?” the man demanded, as the woman screamed out “Howard!”

“It’ll be alright, Maria,” the man called. “They’re SHIELD.”

“Please hurry, sir. I’ll explain on the way.” The handler circled the car slide in the other side, placing the subject in the center seat, between him and the Captain. The Captain shut the door and driver took them back in the direction of the base.

“Ok,” the old man was frowning at the handler, ignoring the Captain. “I got in the car. Tell me what’s going on. Evans, right?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Stark. We have intelligence that remnants of Hydra are sending an assassin to kill you. Your work at SHIELD has been drawing some attention.”

“So, you and your silent friend here are taking me where?”

The handler frowned, the way he did when the Captain asked questions about the mission that he didn’t like. This one had been with him for four missions now, and he had always explained exactly why he wanted the Captain to do something. Until this mission. He was on edge. The Captain sensed that this mission was one of the most important he had been sent on, at least since he woke up in the clean, white room.

“The safest place for you, sir. SHIELD HQ.”

“For how long?” The Captain hadn’t heard a subject question the handler before in quite this manner. It took extra effort to tune out the conversation and scan the road. This felt like a mission against the Winter Soldier. Perhaps the subject, this ‘Howard,’ was the Soldier’s target.

They arrived at the base. The Captain got out of the car first and scanned the perimeter before signaling the handler to bring the subject into the base. He shadowed them then, eyes alert, hands on his guns. He missed his shield, but perhaps it was now outdated like the weapons he had used on the last mission. The Captain suppressed a worry about when _he_ would be outdated.

He followed the handler and the subject deep underground, deeper even than his sleeping chamber. They entered a small room, a five-by-five steel box with a table and two chairs. The subject took one and sprawled in it. The Captain patrolled the perimeter, looking for weaknesses in the room. He noted the entrances and exits (one), the air vents (two, across from each other in the north and south walls at about head height), and the distinct lack of distinguishing features. The door was six inches thick and flush with the wall on both sides. When the handler closed and locked it, no sound came in from outside, even to the Captain’s superior hearing.

“So I just sit here with you and Mr. Silent over there for… how long? You do know I have work to be doing right now,” the subject said. The handler ignored him.

“No one comes in or out,” the handler ordered the Captain.

“Yes sir.” The Captain said.

Behind them both, the subject’s eyes widened and a breath slipped out in what sounded like the word ‘no.’

After a few minutes of silence, in which the subject’s eyes followed the Captain’s every move, he spoke up. “Hey. If I’m gonna be stuck here, I might at least know your names. You’re Evans, but who’s the big guy?” he asked, leaning forward.

“His name is not your concern. He has been trained for missions like this, and is the asset best qualified to protect you. That is all you need to know.”

“Then what do I call him? I can’t just keep calling him ‘the silent guy’.” The subject stood and circled around the Captain, examining him. “Is he SHIELD? I don’t remember anyone like him. Of course, maybe I would if he takes his mask off. Hey, buddy,” he put a hand on the Captain’s shoulder. The Captain tensed. No-one touched him unless it was in battle, or to help him put on his armor. “Want to take your mask off?” the subject asked. The Captain looked straight ahead, not meeting those dark eyes.

“Mr. Stark!” the handler snapped at the subject. “Please refrain from speaking to the Captain. He must not be distracted.”

“Where’s he from?” the subject stopped circling, and was now standing on his toes, trying to peer into the Captain’s eyes. The Captain stepped away, turned to get a better line of sight on the door. The subject leaned in, running a hand over the Captain’s arm.

“He’s from the unit started by General Taylor.” The handler stepped between them, herding the subject back to his seat.

“I thought I shut that unit down. We didn’t approve of Taylor’s methods.”

“You did. His assets were transferred to other sections.”

This was the most the Captain had heard a handler speak since the first one had disappeared. He had wondered why Taylor had stopped appearing at his mission debriefs, why other men were there instead. They had told him not to worry, it was all according to plan. He was helping prevent another World War, and that was all he had needed to know.

“So, he’s here willingly?” The subject was looking at the handler with an intense dislike. The Captain checked his weapons. The mission was to protect this Howard Stark, but no one had said if that included from the handler.

“Tell him, Captain,” the handler said, gesturing for the Captain to speak. The Captain blinked at him, confused. Tell him what? “Tell him you chose to work with us.”

“I was offered the chance to serve my country. To prevent another war. This was my choice.” The Captain said, and watched the subject’s eyes go round, heard his breathing catch in his chest. He didn’t understand the reaction. He looked to the handler for approval.

“See,” the handler nodded. The Captain had done well. “He’s not one of Taylor’s unwilling agents.

“Has he worked with Carter or Dugan before?” the subject asked. He looked sad.

“There was never any need. Neither of them have been targeted by the Winter Soldier.”

The subject snorted. “Winter Soldier, my ass. That guy’s a myth. This one, though. How come we didn’t know any of Taylor’s agents stayed with SHIELD? I thought, when he left, they all went with him.”

The handler shrugged. “Not exactly something they told me.” He turned away from the subject, clearly ending the conversation. The old man sat still then, eyes flicking between the handler and the Captain. The Captain tried to ignore him. He needed to be alert if someone attacked.

 

Seven hours passed. The subject and the handler both slept in the chairs, leaving the Captain standing guard at the door. Food was brought to them, food the handler tested before allowing the subject to eat. The subject, Howard, kept trying to talk to the Captain, but the Captain had his orders. He avoided all attempts at conversation. Once, he thought he heard movement from the air ducts, but inspection proved it was clear. Time passed. The handler’s radio crackled to life.

The handler answered the radio before handing it to the subject. A woman’s voice issued from it. “Howard? It’s Peggy. Are you alright?”

Howard shrugged. “I’m fine, Peggy. They’ve got me locked in down here with one of Taylor’s projects.” He watched the Captain standing in front of the door. “They going to bring you in to join me?”

“Maybe,” the voice on the radio said. “Do you need anything?”

“How about a book? They’ve got a real blockhead in here watching me. Won’t even let me talk. I’m bored. I need a distraction.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

The subject handed the radio back to the handler, who spend a few minutes in intense conversation with the person on the other end before abruptly standing up.

“I’ve been asked to escort Agent Carter down here. You both will remain here. Captain, remember your orders. No one in or out. I’ll return soon.”

The Captain watched the handler go, locking the door behind him. Then he turned, to see the subject staring hard at him.

“So.” He leaned forward, and the Captain did not understand the sorrow in his eyes. “He’ll be gone for a while. Peggy’s going to distract him.” The Captain did not respond. He was not supposed to speak. He wanted to ask how this ‘Peggy’ was going to distract the handler, or how Howard knew of it. The subject seemed to read the question in his mind anyway. “We have a code,” he explained. “I ask for a book. It means I need something. I said I had a ‘blockhead’ watching me. That meant I needed her to do something about him. Then I said I needed a distraction. Those sentences combined told her what to do.”

The Captain said nothing.

“You’re wondering why I’m telling you this,” the subject said, standing and moving to lean against the wall. “It’s because I want you to know you can trust me. So if you want to talk or something, you can. I promise I won’t distract you if someone manages to fight their way through a building full of SHIELD agents down to the most secure room on the lowest level.”

The Captain still said nothing. In truth, he did not know how to reply.

“You know, you can take off your mask, if you want. I’m sure it’s uncomfortable. You’ve been wearing it for hours.”

The Captain shifted. He wasn’t supposed to talk.

The subject crossed the room to circle the Captain again. “Or, I saved some dinner. I’m sure you’re hungry. You haven’t eaten since we got here.”

The food was tempting. The Captain always had large meals before and after missions, but his body used the energy very quickly. He needed to eat again soon, if he was to maintain peak alertness. He stood straighter, trying to ignore the subject.

“At least tell me your name. I’m Howard. Howard Stark.” The subject extended his hand, as if expecting a handshake. The Captain stared at it.

“Come on, don’t be rude. I introduced myself. Now it’s your turn.”

Something in the Captain prodded at him, reminding him that being rude was bad. He was supposed to be polite. He extended his hand to shake the subject’s.

“I am called Captain.”

“Just Captain?” Howard asked, leaning closer, eyes on the Captain’s face.

The Captain nodded. The handlers had long since stopped referring to him as anything else.

“Well. Cap,” the subject said, the abbreviated title heavy with meaning the Captain didn’t understand. “Are you hungry?”

_Orders: Don’t Talk To The Subject_ flashed through the Captain’s mind. That other thing prodded him about being rude again. He shook his head. The subject gave a frustrated sigh.

“Come on. Big guy like you, voice like that, I bet you’re a handsome devil. I just wanna see your face for a minute.” He reached out, hands tugging at the mask, and several things happened in very quick succession. The Captain took a step back, into the door. The door opened, revealing the handler. The mask came off.

The subject froze. “My god,” he said. “Steve.”

“What?” a woman said behind them. The Captain retrieved his mask from Howard’s limp hands, feeling guilty. He had disobeyed orders.

“Put that back on,” the handler ordered. The Captain turned to him, and noticed the woman with him. She was maybe seventy years old, but she stood strong and tall. Until she saw the Captain’s face, and her eyes filled with tears. The Captain thought maybe he knew those eyes.

“Captain,” the handler snapped, and the Captain clicked the mask back into place.

“Steve.” The subject repeated the name, hand on the Captain’s arm. The Captain shook his head, attempting to move to allow the handler and the woman into the room.

“Steve,” Howard insisted, blocking his attempts to move with his body, forcing the Captain to either stand still or knock him over.

“That’s not my name.” He was confused, did not understand what was happening.

“Steve,” now the woman was saying that name, reaching out to him.

“Captain,” the handler pushed the Captain, trying to get into the room. The subject rounded on him, fury in every line of his body.

“Do you know who he is?” Howard spat. The handler took a step back from the old man’s wrath. “Did you know about this?” the man turned to glare at the woman, who had put her hands over her mouth. “What the _fuck_ is going on here?”

Before anyone could answer, a gunshot rang out from down the hall. The handler fell. The Captain shoved the subject and the woman back into the room, closing the door behind them. A dark figured walked towards him, gun drawn. The Captain drew his own weapons, and battle was engaged.

 

The enemy fought with a ferocity the Captain had not anticipated. He got flashes of long brown hair, a metal arm with a red star, a voice snarling in Russian. He didn’t have time to process much of anything in that fight, but he saw enough to know who he was battling.

“ _About time_ ,” he said in Russian, blocking the Soldier’s punch and throwing one of his own.

“You’re the American Captain,” the Soldier said, his English coming out in a prefect Brooklyn accent. The Captain didn’t have time to think about how he knew what kind of accent it was.

“And you’re the Winter Soldier.” The Captain tried a low kick, only to be blocked by that metal arm. The Soldier’s other hand held a knife, one he drove down at the Captain’s stomach. He grabbed the hand, forcing him to drop the knife with a grunt. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“Me too.” The Soldier stepped away, panting. They both took a chance to breathe. Then the Soldier attacked, and the Captain used his knife to shatter the glass in the Soldier’s eye guards. The Soldier ripped them off, and for the third time that day, the Captain _knew_ those eyes. But that flash of knowing was gone in an instant as the Soldier attacked.

They fought in that hallway for a long time. Nobody knows exactly how long. But sometime during the fight, they both sustained injuries. They were well matched, and the Captain regretted that he would have to kill the Soldier. He had a feeling they would have worked well together. It was a pity he was an enemy. He didn’t know it, but the Soldier felt the same way about him.

“I can’t let your mission succeed,” the Captain told the Soldier. The Soldier snarled.

“Like hell. I’ll complete my objective. But first, you’re _mine_.” He swung a fist at the Captain’s face. The Captain leaned back, dodging the blow, and the Soldier kicked him, throwing him off balance. Then he grabbed the Captain by the shoulders, attempting to pull him down.

“No-” The Captain struggled, hands scrabbling for a purchase on the Soldier’s smooth armor, and found one in the straps holding the man’s mask to his face. He twisted, tearing himself free, and felt his helmet come off, his own mask going with it. The Soldier’s mask fell from his hands to the floor. He turned, ready to attack, and was confronted by- his memory.

Because the Soldier’s face was the face of the one memory he had from _before_. The man with the one name he recognized. Dancing blue eyes. A sly smirk. He had gone to sleep with that face in his mind countless times, that one name the only thing anchoring him to a world he didn’t remember.

“Bucky,” he breathed.

At the same time, the Soldier froze. He saw the Captain’s face for the first time, but it _wasn’t_ the first time. He knew that face. Kind blue eyes. A sunlight smile. The only name that had ever mattered to him. The only memory he had that he was certain was his own. The name spilled from his lips like a prayer.

“Steve.”

Memory crashed down like a tidal wave, drowning them both in images and sounds from the lives they had forgotten. They stood there in that darkened hallway, weapons strewn across the floor around them, the handler lying in a spreading pool of blood. The only sound was their ragged breathing. Then the comm unit in Steve’s ear crackled to life.

“Captain. Come in, Captain. What’s your status?” Another handler. Steve stood frozen in horror, the full weight of what he had done, and what he had almost done, crushing him.

“Captain?” The handler was insistent, voice bordering on panic. Bucky reached out, stepping towards Steve, and Steve flinched. But Bucky just brushed a hand against his cheek, fingers sliding into his ear to close on the small device. He took it in the metal hand, and crushed it, dropping the pieces to the ground. His own followed.

“Steve,” he said again, stronger, worried. His own memories pulled at him, and maybe he would have been pulled down by his own guilt, but there was Steve in front of him, looking more lost and in pain than Bucky had ever seen him. Steve’s eyes widened, snapping up to meet Bucky’s.

“ _Bucky_.” Steve lifted an arm, reaching out before stopping, hesitation clear in every line of his body. Bucky didn’t like his expression, face warring between horror and joy. The horror looked like it was winning.

“Come here, punk,” Bucky told him, and drew Steve close.

“God. Bucky, I-” Steve resisted for half a second before melting into Bucky’s embrace. His shoulders shook in silent sobs, and Bucky spared a second to revel in the fact that he could _remember_ that that was how Steve used to cry, back before the war, silent and clinging to Bucky like he was all that was keeping him alive. Then he was busy wrapping his arms around his friend, murmuring reassurances into his golden hair while fighting back tears of his own. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, wow, this ended up being a lot longer than I anticipated. Thank you so much for reading!! I hope you enjoy it!

Behind the six inch steel door, Howard and Peggy stared at each other. They couldn’t hear the battle on the other side of the wall, but they knew what was happening. What they _didn’t_ know, was why. Howard collapsed into a chair.

“That was Steve. I wasn’t hallucinating that, right?”

“That was Steve.” Peggy was still standing where Steve’s shove had left her, half a foot from the door. “How…”

Howard pulled out a small square box that looked something like a cross between a calculator and a telephone. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

He pulled out a screen embedded in the box and started furiously pushing buttons. At last, a voice came through and the screen flickered into life.

“Dad?”

Peggy came to stand behind Howard and looked over his shoulder at the screen, which was showing the slightly wild, bloodshot eyes of Howard’s son.

“Hi son. I need you to do something for me.”

Tony snorted. “What, no ‘how are you?’ You and Mom get carted off by agents, I’m stuck here being babysat by some of your SHIELD goons, and you start off with ‘I need you to do something for me?’”

“You’re fine. I’m fine, or I wouldn’t be calling. This is important, Tony.”

The boy rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright, fine. What is it?”

“You’re in a SHIELD safehouse, right? Remember that thing I caught you doing awhile back? The one I said I’d disown you if I ever caught you doing again?”

“Yeah…”

Howard grinned, and Peggy recalled the incident a few months back, when Howard had caught Tony hacking into a SHIELD database while visiting Howard at the office.

“I need information about an asset. Codename- the Captain. The project was started under General Taylor.”

“Sure. I gotcha. I’ll call when I have something.” The screen went dark.

Howard closed the box and put his head in his hands. “I knew it was him. When he got in that car, I thought he was familiar. And then I heard his voice, and I knew. I had to get his mask off, just to be sure it wasn’t wishful thinking.”

Peggy struggled with emotions she had thought long put to rest. Seeing Steve’s face had brought it all back, and for a moment she had been hearing him die all over again. “It’s been over forty years. And he didn’t look a day older than he did when he… when he crashed.”

“That bastard. That goddamn fucking bastard,” Howard cursed.

“Who?”

“The guy currently lying in a puddle of blood outside said he was one of Taylor’s projects.”

Peggy’s fingers tightened around her gun. “Taylor. That bastard. You think he found Steve and kept him for his cold war projects?”

“We’ll know when Tony gets back to me,” Howard said. At the same time, there was a thump against the door. They both turned to stare at it.

“Steve,” Peggy said, taking a step towards the door. “He’s fighting out there, whoever killed the other agent.”

“How did anyone get down here? There should have been at least ten agents blocking his path from any entrance.”

“More than that. We passed at least twice that many patrols on the way down.”

For a moment, they stared at each other, stunned by the implications. Either the assassin had killed a massive amount of people, or there were spies within the organization. And either option paled in comparison to the fact that Steve was still alive.

“Steve’s out there. We can’t just let him fight alone.” Peggy drew her gun.

“Peggy, wait,” Howard stopped her with a hand on her elbow. “He doesn’t remember anything. You saw his face, he was confused when we called him Steve. He told me he was called the Captain. Just the Captain. If we go out there, and he doesn’t recognize us….”

Peggy shook her head. “He’s Steve, he won’t hurt us.”

“And we’re both forty-six years older than the last time he saw us. He’d probably have trouble recognizing us even if he _does_ have his memory.”

Peggy stared at him. Then she turned around and walked to the door. The door gave her some more trouble than she would have had forty years earlier, but before Howard could rise to help her, she had it open. Whatever either of them expected to see on the other side of that door, it wasn’t what they saw.

The blood, weapons, and marks of battle were all fairly standard. What wasn’t was the two combatants. Steve was on his knees on the floor, shoulders shaking as he sobbed into the chest of another man. That man raised his head as the door opened, and for the second time in as many hours, Peggy and Howard looked into the eyes of a long-dead friend.

 

Bucky looked up from Steve when the door opened. Two people stood in the doorway. A man and a woman, hair going silver with age. He knew them. Had trusted them both with Steve’s life (which had always been more important to him than his own.) But the last time he had seen them, they had been as young as he and Steve.

He wiped his eyes and gently ran a hand through Steve’s hair. “Hey. We’ve got company.”

Steve looked up, glanced at the two in the door, gave a strangled sort of sob and hid his face in Bucky’s shoulder.

“Barnes?” the old man, who could only be Howard Stark, said, staring. “Ok. Now I know I’m hallucinating. Or dreaming. Or… something.”

The woman, who had to be Peggy Carter, ignored him, taking a step closer. Bucky tensed, pulling Steve back. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, instincts telling him exactly how and where to shoot her to bring about instant death.

“Sargent Barnes. It’s- I’m Agent Carter. You… do you remember me?”

“I thought so,” Bucky growled at her. “But they told me you’re one of the founders of this organization. And it’s pretty clear to me you all have been using Steve pretty badly since I fell.”

“I didn’t know. I swear to you, I didn’t know Steve was alive.” Her eyes were filling with unshed tears, and something in her voice made Bucky believe her. Howard stood beside her, looking stricken, and Bucky knew _he_ hadn’t known about Steve. His mission had been to kill the man, before he found out about the Captain, or the cells of Hydra hiding right under SHIELD’s nose. Hydra. The organization that had had him. For a moment he could feel the needles sliding under his skin. He shook it off. Now was not the time.

“We need to get out of here.” He got to his feet, pulling Steve with him. Steve came without protest, still hiding his face in Bucky’s shirt.

“Hang on, I’ll call-” Howard stepped towards the body of the agent, reaching for his radio.

“No!” Bucky snapped. “No calling anybody. I’m taking Steve somewhere safe. Away from all you assholes.”

Howard dropped the radio, turning back to Bucky and Steve. “I have a safehouse. Someplace SHIELD doesn’t know about.”

“And what makes you think I’m going to accept your help?” Bucky snarled. Maybe he hadn’t known about Steve, but Bucky wasn’t sure who to trust.

“Bucky?” Steve asked, voice small and lost. Bucky could hear feet pounding down the hallway now. It would be a lot harder to get out than it had to get in, especially with Steve. He made a snap decision.

“Take us.”

 

Howard and Peggy guided them through the inner corridors of the building, evading pursuit with the ease of trained agents on their home ground. Steve kept close to Bucky, not moving from his side. When they stopped, he tried to make himself as small as possible, hunching over and trying to disappear behind Bucky. It was clear he didn’t want their old friends to see him. Bucky didn’t really know why, especially because Steve wasn’t talking. But if he had to guess, he would say it was because he ashamed.

Bucky understood the feeling. Peggy and Howard watched them with sad, worried eyes, and he felt a cold pit open in his stomach whenever he thought that maybe Steve knew about what he’d done as the Winter Soldier. He only had a small store of information on the Captain, but it contained a list of assassinations that rivaled his own in everything but brutality.

Getting out of the base proved easier than anyone had thought. Peggy went out the main entrance to get her car, and met Steve, Bucky and Howard at a rear exit. Then they sped away, Howard directing Peggy through side streets and back streets until they arrived in an alley behind a shiny new tower. Howard opened a hidden door and ushered them all inside.

Once inside, they were shown to an underground apartment. Bucky bundled Steve into a bedroom, stopping only to grab the first aid kid Howard offered. He closed the door before either of their old friends could follow him in, and turned to look at Steve properly for the first time in forty six years.

 

Steve kept his eyes on the floor. He didn’t have the right to look at Bucky. What he’d done, it was unforgiveable. He had allowed a general’s talk of duty to convince him he was doing what was right. He’d even believed in it. Killing was wrong, he’d known that, but they had told him that the people he was taking out had killed far more. He had been doing it to save his country, or so he’d thought. Every time he went out on a mission, they told him he had saved hundreds of lives. Every time he failed, they showed him pictures of just what his failure had cost. He still remembered that first failed mission, and the picture of the little girl they had shown him a few days later- a little girl missing half her face.

He had truly thought what he was doing was good. But after a time, he had also come to enjoy it. He remembered feeling a thrill from a successful mission, and felt sick. All the lives he had ended, and he didn’t even know why. They had told him he was saving lives, and he believed them. They told him it was his duty, and he knew he had to do it. They told him it was for America, and he became America’s secret asset. They pointed and told him to shoot, and he pulled the trigger. He’d become no better than any of the mindless minions that fought for Hydra.

“Hey,” gentle hands curled around his chin, pulling his face up to look into Bucky’s eyes. Steve closed his own. Whether he was dead, hallucinating, or seeing something real, he didn’t deserve to have Bucky back. Bucky deserved better than him.

“Steve, look at me,” Bucky demanded. Steve shook his head. “Come on, Stevie. Let me see those pretty blue eyes.” Steve held back a sob. He felt Bucky’s hands framing his face, one warm and living, one cold and metal. The Winter Soldier. Another crime to add to his long, long list. He had let Bucky fall, allowed the soviets to catch him and turn him into their assassin.

“Steve.” He could feel Bucky leaning in close now, his breath stirring the air in front of Steve’s face. “Look at me.” He pressed his lips to Steve’s, a gentle kiss, the barest touch, but Steve leaned into it. This was what he’d been missing. His best friend, his lover, the other half of his heart.

Steve couldn’t help it. He looked. Opened his eyes to see Bucky, alive, right in front of him. Bucky, who had died as he watched.

“How… what happened to you?” Steve asked, hands reaching out of their own accord to cover Bucky’s fingers on his face.

Bucky laughed. “I could be asking the same thing of you, love.” Then he sighed, looking down. “I think that Zola did something to me, back before you rescued us in ’93. Whatever it was helped me survive the fall. But then they- Hydra- found me. I don’t remember too much after that that makes a whole lot of sense. I woke up with a metal arm, and no thoughts but what they told me to think.”

“I, Buck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have-” Steve tried to speak, to apologize for failing to find Bucky. A failed mission, like the dead little girl. Guilt and pain shot through his brain. He cried out, clutching at his head.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky soothed him, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight. “It’s ok. It’s ok, Steve. I’m ok. I’m here. I’m here. You couldn’t have known. Couldn’t have saved me.”

“I should have,” Steve bit out. Bucky shook his head.

“No. You had your own problems, it looks like. How’d you get here, hmm? How’d you get from Captain America to the American Captain, the world class assassin and nemesis of the Winter Soldier?”

Steve closed his eyes again. He couldn’t bear to see Bucky’s face as he explained the past half-century. “I killed Schmidt, and crashed his plane into the ocean. They told me I hit my head in the crash, and the plane went under. I was frozen in ice for about fifteen years, and when they found me and thawed me out, I didn’t remember anything. They… they told me my country needed me. That I was saving lives.”

“They told me the same thing,” Bucky said. “Told me I was changing the world.”

“They used us against each other,” Steve realized. “You were turned into the Winter Soldier, so they turned me into the Captain to fight you.”

Bucky snorted. “If they knew who we really were, they had to have known that would end badly. It’s been, what, a half-century of near misses? They always seemed to throw something in the way if we got close to meeting.”

“Until they sent you to kill Howard. They had to have known I would be pulled out to guard him. They had me in cold storage when they didn’t need me.”

“Me too. That was the only way they could control me, I think. If I stayed awake to long, the programming started to come apart.” Bucky frowned. “They only woke me up this morning. I should have had a few more days at least, before they needed to wipe me again. I guess the programming just couldn’t hold up against my memories of you.”

Steve nodded. His own memories had come flooding back at the sight of Bucky’s face. It made sense. They had faced the world together, after all. Bucky had always been his everything. Without Bucky, no memories had been worth having, really.

 

They used Howard’s first aid kit to patch each other up. Steve threw away their body armor, and Bucky dug around in the drawers until he found a pair of shirts and pants that looked like they might fit them. They were too tight, but it was infinitely better than wearing the clothes they had been given to kill each other in.

They had just finished dressing when Howard knocked on the door. He had a folder full of papers in his hand, and was looking grave.

“Do you remember anything?” he asked them both, looking straight at Steve. Steve nodded slowly.

“I remember now. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I shouldn’t’ve forgotten.”

“Not your fault, my friend,” Howard told him. “Not your fault at all. You’re back now, and that’s what matters. Both of you.”

They followed him out to the large main room of the safehouse, where they found Peggy and a young man that looked almost exactly like their memories of Howard from the war.

“Whoa,” Bucky said, looking from the older Stark to the boy at the table. “Don’t tell me you got into cloning while we were on ice.”

The kid gave them a disgusted look, but Howard started to laugh.

“No, no, this is my son, Tony. He came with some information I think you might be interested in.”

“Nice to meet you, Tony,” Bucky said, extending his hand to shake. The kid shrugged.

Steve watched Peggy staring at him, and felt himself go red with shame. He tried to hide behind Bucky.

“Steve.” Peggy stood, walking to where she could see him. “I’m happy you’re back.”

Steve couldn’t really think of what to say to that. He couldn’t just say “I’m not.” That would hurt her, and that wasn’t what he wanted.

Howard’s kid broke the silence. “So, it looks like you’ve both been used by Hydra. Sorry, Dad. It looks like you’re super-secret spy group’s been hiding your enemies since day one.” He didn’t sound particularly sorry. “When I hacked into your computers, I found a second database underneath all the usual stuff. I had to-” Steve got lost as the kid started going on about technology he hadn’t even known existed, and how he had broken into it. Bucky wrapped their hands together tightly.

“I had a mission,” he said. “They wanted me to kill you,” he nodded to Howard. “They said you were getting too close. I think they meant it was too close to finding them.” The kid’s eyes widened, and he looked at Bucky’s metal arm.

“You’re the Winter Soldier,” he said, and Bucky nodded.

The kid turned to Steve. “That makes you Captain America, right? You know SHIELD’s hunting you both right now, yeah?”

 

In the end, they stayed in the safehouse for two weeks. It took that long for them both to recover enough to face the world again. Sometimes Steve would wake, blank-eyed, without a memory, and ask Bucky for his mission. Sometimes Bucky would wake, dead-eyed, and try to kill whoever was in the room with him. They both had moments where the guilt over what they had been forced to do overcame them. Steve convinced himself he didn’t deserve Bucky. Bucky convinced himself he didn’t deserve Steve. Howard and Peggy called them both stupid.

The real breakthrough came one morning, when Bucky woke to Steve curled around him, legs and arms firmly holding him in place. When he moved, Steve opened his eyes and smiled. It was the first smile Bucky had seen from him since 1945, and it was beautiful. Steve, the human ray of sunshine. Bucky smiled back, and they stared at each other for a while, then Steve leaned forward and brushed his lips to Bucky’s. Before Bucky could really start to return the kiss, he had pulled back.

“Is this alright?” he asked, shy. Bucky laughed, a joyful sound Steve had worried he had forgotten how to make.

“Punk, it’s more than alright. Do it again. And this time, don’t stop.”

They didn’t leave the bedroom for several more hours. When they did, they found a surprise waiting for them in the form of the Howling Commandos. The team had heard about what had happened from Howard, and come right away. The five of them, plus Peggy and Howard, had set about cleaning up shop at SHIELD. Steve and Bucky never knew the ferocity their friends had fought with, or just what lengths they went to, to avenge the wrongs against them. The Commandos agreed it was better that way, they didn’t need that on their consciences in addition to all the guilt of a half century of assassinations.

Steve and Bucky spent the next few years on the run from both SHIELD and Hydra. The Commandos hid them, or knew other people who could hide them. An agent named Nick Fury was recruited by Peggy to head the cleanup effort, and he in turn recruited other agents he trusted. It grew into a whole other intelligence network, one that answered only to Fury, who in turn only answered to Howard, Peggy, the Commandos, Steve, and Bucky.

It took some adjusting for Steve and Bucky, seeing their old comrades aged, the world changed from the one they had fought to protect. But they adapted. They could have adapted to anything, so long as they were together. Because, when it all came down to it, that was really all they had ever needed. Brainwashing and amnesia, Hydra goons and SHIELD assassins, nothing could stand in the way of them, together. They healed each other, loved each other, protected each other. They were all they needed.

And, when SHIELD had been dismantled and Hydra was no longer a threat, when Steve stopped waking screaming from his nightmares and Bucky didn’t slide back into being the Winter Solder, and the world needed them? Steve and Bucky answered the call. They fought to protect everything they believed in, especially each other. But always on their own terms. And always, always, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story keeps pulling at me, telling me to make it longer. So this might be revisited in a few months. But this particular rendition of the idea is well and truly finished, and if I ever do take a look at the idea again, it will be in a different story.

**Author's Note:**

> The next chapter should be up in a couple days. After I finish the next chapter of David. I am not allowed to write anything else until I've at least done that. For those of you reading Anagnorisis, Comitatus should start by the end of the week, as soon as Tony stops being annoying and lets me write him, dammit!


End file.
